Dance With Me
by forgetmenotjimmy
Summary: "It was like a game, an elaborate dance they danced often but only with each other." Arthur and Merlin are beginning to question their relationship and this confusion puts their identities and even their very lives in peril.
1. Little Things

Chapter 1- Little Things

The jaw, of all things, was usually the thing he noticed most about Arthur. At every angle it was there, wide and strong and just- Unsure about the un-lettered sentiments that followed, the servant would turn his back, go back to work, shake his head. His opinion of that man changed so rapidly. One moment he was bubbling with resentment at the indignity the stupid clot pole was showering him with, then a kind of awe at the strength and unfathomable weight on his young shoulders. Then things get thrown at him and he pursues his lips all over again.

The silence, almost tangible without his seemingly ever present clumsy, imbecile Merlin, hung about him. He didn't regret throwing that boot but for a moment, in the calm after the banterish confrontation, he stood almost frowning. There was a little pinch in his stomach which widened in the nothingness before he shook his head and tried to ignore the dizzying confusion growing inside his head. He had his responsibilities to think about; he spent enough time trying to save his hapless servant from danger without thinking about him any longer than necessary. Yet…he shook his head, turned from is servant's departure and went to bed, rubbing his jaw.

The hair. It was stupid; the way he shook it over his eyes made no sense to the dark-haired one. Why keep it long enough to cover the face? The spoiled prince should get it cut, perhaps in a more similar style to his sensible companion, who nodded to himself in the small bucket of water he was gazing into, thinking about the Prince's hair. He looked into his own eyes and for a horrible moment didn't recognise himself, what expression was that? Blinking almost confusedly, he smiled nervously and broke his reflection with a cloth as he continued to wash the floor.

The sparkle was missing. It came to him as he lay in bed. It had come to him as soon as he had relaxed into the matrass; he had a feeling that those eyes would be in his head all through the night. He sat up and frowned, remembering. Merlin had brought something that he had cleaned and Arthur had reprimanded him for a missed patch, or something. The prince shook his head, ignoring the other details he saw again those deep eyes. He thought that his servant had been tired, or, just. Down. This idea made him… Why couldn't he express himself properly? It irritated him and he tousled his hair, pouted and then threw himself back and tried not to think.


	2. Playing The Part

Chapter 2- Playing the part

"Merlin!" The tone was familiar and now, he found to his surprise, less foreboding than it had once been. He sighed discreetly but not without a small smile shadowing his lips.

"What. Is this?" They both looked down at it. Merlin looked up first, the smile bursting onto his face.

"It's soup!" Blinking painfully slowly, the master stared aggressively at the slighter man.

"Yes, I can see that. But what's in it?" As the scene played out, both acted out their roles as well as before but the more they played their parts, the more conscious of the artifice they became. The Prince was never as angry, if at all, as his chiding suggested and the humbly patient one couldn't conjure any feelings of humility at all, not at times like this. It was like a game, an elaborate dance they danced often but only with each other. A dizzying set of steps which neither could foresee nor comprehend.

Without consciously registering it, they had become very close. Arthur could almost count the dark eyelashes flicking out from the eyes he found himself avoiding; they were too mysterious and intense, though he could not find it within himself to consider this reasoning. Merlin was avoiding the jaw and found the lips before darting his gaze embarrassedly away, unsure as to cause of the heat suddenly pulsing in his face. Finally, the Prince snorted in resignation and the inexplicable magnetism abruptly vanished; they were far apart and out of sight. Both lost in their own limbo.

The broad-shouldered commander barked out more orders at the lines of men spread out on the lawn. They answered their leader with the clanging of metal and visceral shouts, crying out in the crisp morning. Stern blue eyes darkened as they watched the laboured strokes of inexperienced men; they had lost too many good knights of late and time to train was slipping away. Clenching his hands into fists by his sides, his arms tensed right up to the shoulders as his chest rippled with anger at the impossibility of it all. As his insides squirmed, the memory of his earlier rant at Merlin popped up on the bubbling surface of his consciousness. It surprised him that the stress of his Princely duties should be linked with his servant. He came to a complete stop. Mind blank, he felt his heart pounding furiously.

The moment passed and the day went on.

The cat-like servant jumped down from the stool on which he had been balancing to reach the top shelf in Gaius' lab. He landed neatly, holding in one hand the book he had retrieved, pulling a chair out from the table with the other. Had his master seen this elegance, he would have laughed. Merlin was reading to the sounds of bubbling and distant shouting. A random word in the text recalled to him the earlier scene with the Prince. He looked up suddenly, the images flashing before him. Watching them mutely, he put a hand to his heart.

Then he shook it off and went back to reading. In the back of his mind he registered the word.

Destiny.


	3. He Reached Out His Hand

Chapter 3- He reached out his hand

The whispers crescendoed suddenly, harsh and serpentine; they rose up coiling and shuddering violently around his head. Through the mess of doubting and snarling: a clear voice, urgent and passionate, calling him. He reached out his hand, white against swirling darkness, straining through the roaring of voices and whipping bands of black around him. His large frame and golden hair were smothered by grey and fierce winds as he struggled to see the source of the voice. Now desperate, he realised the whispers were now shouting, shouting the same name. Over and over, swirling and hissing until he burst from the storm into complete darkness, sweating and panting. The stillness of the night cupped his face and stroked his heaving chest. The quiet pounded in his ears, thumping furiously until he touched his chest and found the feral pulse. He looked down at his hand, now hovering shakily. His heart slowed as he remembered.

He had been reaching for someone and the name rushed at him, forcing itself out in a startled whisper.

"Merlin."

He had dreamt about Arthur before. Protecting the Prince was never far from his mind, it was understandable that the concern would seep into his sleep. But tonight had been different. There was something beyond the issue of destiny and his duty, something so tangled that he couldn't even see the beginning of it. Mazes within mazes, threads tangling and knotting with such intensity it almost suffocated him. Sighing heavily, he put it aside and tried to sleep in the quiet of the night.

The sun failed to warm the frowning Prince. Its light reflected tiny stars in his contemplative eyes, but did not stretch past them into the mind, in a rare moment of cold analysis. The squeak of the door startled him out of his aimless ponderings and the subject of his confusion entered. He wasn't smiling today, his master noted, he looked worried. Clearing his throat he launched himself into another tirade about something, measuring his servant's reactions.

The eyes were as mute as the mouth. His pale face fixed in neutral ground, or rather air; mists hid him from narrow scrutiny. Frustrated, the knight twisted his mouth trying to think of another approach. He put up his hand to stop that wretched boy in his work and was about to speak when the door swung open. A junior knight relayed the message nervously, not settling the Prince's insides which squirmed instinctively. Without a word, Merlin fell in step with him as they marched to the Throne Room.

"We've had reports of people disappearing from outlying villages, without any trace. They all go the same way, leaving all possessions, houses intact." Arthur listened with his fist under his chin, eyes narrowing. His servant stopped listening, he already knew, at least, his mother had written to him about disappearances in her village. Covertly, he glanced round at the crowd; the King, the most senior knights, a few members of the council, himself, Gaius and he avoided looking at the last person in the room. He already knew what the mouth would look like anyway, he had seen it enough. When the King turned to his court physician, Merlin knew Gaius was being completely honest when he said that he had no idea what it could be.

"I'm afraid sire that I can think of no motive for any sorcerer to capture villagers, nor any beasts that would leave no trace. It's a mystery." The old man sighed, how many attacks on the innocent had he seen over the years? He briefly registered his apprentice and ward, seeing a worried look on his young features. No one in the room, no matter what theories or strategies they were spouting, knew what to do; that was the fact which scared the cat the most.

Eventually the King turned to face the group and the servant already knew what to pack and what to leave.


	4. Clearer

Chapter 4- Clearer

The sun was out. Merlin looked up through the trees, squinting against the dappled blaze. He sighed, the shine wasn't warming; its presence was almost like a formality. Turning his gaze back to the exhausted party was disheartening. They had ridden for days to reach the outlying villages, questioned those that hadn't fled, investigated all that remained and had reached no useful conclusions. At one point Arthur had thrown his hands up in the air in frustration, Merlin looking on nervously, worry gnawing inside him. He had no more energy to go over the questions again.

They rode on until darkness, hardly a word or signal to show notice outside of themselves. Merlin didn't see Arthur's gaze flicker from the horizon once all day.

A shout came from the back of the train. Their attention sharpened, if possible, as Arthur turned urgently and began to trot to the source of the cry. Merlin was close behind.

"Sire, its Sir Gerald." The wary Prince scanned the pale faces below, faint in the semi-darkness, before snapping his head back to the knight who had spoken.

"Where he is?"

"He's gone sire…One moment he was right behind me, the next…" Almost as one, the group looked out into the wilderness, each body shivering with fear and miscomprehension. A small, whispering voice wavered among them.

"Without a trace." Arthur tightened his jaw before his rising chest forced it open. Merlin looked away, knowing what was coming.

"There will be no superstition and blind fear in these ranks!" The future king snapped. "Sir Gilleon, Sir Lonsdale, ride back to the ridge in the distance and see if you can spot anything in the land below." Turning to the rest of his men, jaw still rigid, he was about to berate them further before he caught his servant's eyes. They were quivering with an emotion he couldn't sense in his own anger; the oceans subdued him.

"Alright, take a break. We will rest here tonight." Sighs and clinks bubbled on the thickening air, tightening around their chests. The group rested gratefully, though the sudden and unexplained disappearance of one of their own was weighing down the pit of their stomachs. The servant in particular was being pulled down not only by a hopeless fear, but by responsibility. This…creature, or entity maybe, which was snatching people and leaving no trace had to be magic; it was his duty – through prophecy rather than the Royal court – to protect the kingdom from evil magic. Pages of his book flashed before his inner eye as his tired brain fought to find an answer among those spells. Revealing spells, tracing spells, entrapping spells… He had a few tools with him, those which could be easily explained as normal instruments but now none of them seemed to be of any help.

It was only after about an hour that one of the knights realised that the knights who had gone to investigate hadn't returned.

Despite Merlin's warnings and the knights' wariness, the Prince ordered that they remain for the night, sticking together. They would not run from danger and in the morning they would ride back to meet the… cause of the disappearances. As a low fire flickered, most of the knights asleep, Merlin came to sit next to the brooding leader. Neither spoke, the warrior listening for the noises of attack, the healer straining his limp mind for any explanation, anything at all. Eventually, Merlin gave up completely, rubbing his eyes and sighing heavier than he thought he could. It roused the fighter out of his concentration and for a moment he simply looked at the dark-haired man. There was so much in his servant's face that, angered him? No, not anger… Arthur cursed himself. He was just frustrated that he couldn't understand those deep eyes. He'd known his servant for three years, they'd been through so much together; how was it that he still couldn't read him? For a short time, he'd thought that he could understand Merlin's expressions and coded sighs; but recently, something had changed to make him unreachable again. The wind suddenly changed. It happened very quickly.

One shout and a muffled roar and then everyone was moving. Arthur didn't have time to blink before he was forced to duck below something large and heavy and clad in chainmail. Merlin jumped up and cast the first spell he could think of.

"Okwele Veritum!" A large, large, creature-thing. Even now, visible, it was hard to tell what it was. The body was massive, grey, or dark brown, sleek muscles rippling along the long body as smoothly as an eel. It had…four legs? A tail or an extra leg? The limbs moved so fast they blurred, were there claws or long fingers? Merlin couldn't tell. All he knew was that the great head was suddenly looking at him, dark eyes piercing and angry. Unable to think, the young warlock just stood staring at it, unaware of his master struggling to stand after being hit by one of the knights, unaware of the rest of the men running in panic, some already fallen and still. For a long moment that wasn't even a heartbeat long, he let it see him. Now aware of its visibility, the beast screamed, a high, terrible scream and then vanished.

Unsheathing his sword, Arthur swung round to nothing. There were still shouts and men moving, but the immediate danger was gone. The Prince puffed, grip loosening on the hilt before he stopped staring at the clearing and jumped out of his battle stance, going to organise the men. Panting, Merlin took in the scene as best he could in the dim light, only three men were still lying on the floor, the rest up and limping, gathering their strewn supplies. He was called on quickly to attend to the fallen. They'd been poisoned; their wounds were already black and haemorrhaging blood. One of them seized and the other two Merlin knew would never wake. After tending to them, he breathed in deeply. He knew he couldn't reveal what he'd seen without raising suspicion, and if he was honest, whatever was causing the disappearances didn't matter right now. All he knew was that they to leave as soon as they could. Striding over to the motionless prince and he jumped right in.

"Whatever this thing is it's not going to wait long to attack again, if we don't go now and as fast as we can-" The reply was sharp and pained.

"I am not leaving my men!" Merlin's voice lowered and sharpened as well, a dagger to Arthur's throat.

"You may not have a choice." In the moment of strained silence between the two, a shout interrupted them. It had come from a young-looking knight next to one of the poisoned men, Merlin rushed to the man on the ground and felt for a pulse. He was dead. Merlin looked up, his eyes again unreadable to the standing man, chainmail and armour pressing down on his young shoulders. The learning physician glanced at the other men lying scattered on the rotting leaves and then looked up again at the leader, shaking his head. The sun was dragging itself over the twisted trees but gave no warmth. Defeated and shuddering at the bile in his mouth, Arthur gathered the knights and ordered them prepare to moving off.

He buried the body himself.


End file.
